


The Alan Smithee Affair

by ColtsAndQuills



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Early in Canon, Endings with a Twist, Fed-Up!Sam, Some people ain't worth saving, grumpy!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColtsAndQuills/pseuds/ColtsAndQuills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a series of bad hunts for the Winchesters, and there's no sign that things will be taking a turn for the better. With Dean hurt and Sam facing an increasingly difficult number of citizens in distress, the odds are less and less in favor of the boys' survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alan Smithee Affair

“You have got to be kidding me. Out of all places and nights, they gotta pick this one?” When Dean swung out of the Impala it wasn’t with his usual ease, but movements stiff and measured.

He and Sam had expected nothing but miles of abandoned farmland, but pounding across the overgrown field was something the radio announced as “today’s best rock” (Dean colorfully disagreed). Between its rhythmic bass and the laughter of the kids seated around a bonfire, no one had even heard his and Sam’s arrival.

“Urban legend, rumor of mass murder ever fifty years by a vengeful spirit — you know how locals eat this stuff up.” Sam had seen these kinds of kids growing up, they came with every town.

“Yeah, well, teenagers are idiots,” Dean grumbled. He was already stalking toward the group, a shotgun held tightly at his side.

This time around, Sam didn’t bother voicing any concern for discretion. The truth was, the last several hunts had been filled with hangups that ranged from the irritable to the potentially disastrous. Beneath his usual layers, Dean was already sporting two cracked ribs from the previous night’s kill. Screams pouring from office walls, lights flashing, shit flying all over the place, and some anal-retentive suit had still insisted: “This can’t be real! I’m not buying this! I don’t have to listen to you!” The guy had walked right out into the fray, and if not for Dean’s fast reflexes, it would have been the last walk he ever took. Hours later, wrapping his brother’s ribs, Sam was tempted to agree that it didn’t always feel worth saving some assholes.

“What are you gonna do?” he asked, falling into step beside Dean.

“Something I’ve wanted to try for a long time.”

Dean smiled, and Sam immediately had second thoughts about the whole affair.

“HEY, YOU KIDS!”

_**BAM.** _

Dean’s bellow turned heads, but it was the shotgun blast that had them knocking each other over in their panic to get up.

“GET THE HELL OFF’A MY LAWN!”

A collection of slogan tees and team jerseys, jeans and miniskirts alike, scattered to a circle of parked cars at a speed that could rival a Nascar pit crew. Dean clucked his tongue and winked at Sam, and by the time they reached the bonfire, there were only a few belligerent stragglers holding their ground. A stocky blonde filled with more PBR than common sense stumbled in their direction, watery eyes set in challenge.

“Who the fuck you think you’re kidding? No one’s been around here for years,” he sneered.

“Well, we just happen to be Farmer Douglass’ great grandkids. And we decided it was about time to check out the old place,” Dean declared.

In case his words didn’t have the intended impact, he pumped the shotgun, letting the threatening click of the reload speak for him.

The boy hesitated, but a dark quirk of the older Winchester’s lips set him into a retreat. “Should call the fucking cops on you! You’re crazy!” he shouted as he ran after the others.

“You think I’m crazy? You call me crazy, you think I’m crazy? You wanna see crazy?!”

“OK, Riggs, think you proved your point.” Sam tugged on Dean’s sleeve before gesturing to the small farmhouse that lay ahead. Disrepair was hardly the word. A black pitch roof and red shingles gone brown with age seemed ready to fold in upon themselves like a children’s pop-up book. Roughly twenty yards to its left leaned a two-story barn that didn’t fair any better.

“Hey, look, they left us a six-pack.”

“ _Dean_.”

“Alright, alright. But ghost or not, I think your lead is bullshit. I mean, come on, a haunted cowboy hat? This ain’t the Alamo, Sammy.”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, I know. But since he was cremated, it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

“Assuming we’ve even got the right guy.”

Neither of them were thrilled with the number of “what ifs” surrounding the hunt, but it wasn’t as though this was the first time they had to follow instinct rather than indisputable info.

“Well, since you decided to take the scenic route on the way here, we’ve only got about twenty minutes to find out,” said Sam. “House or barn?”

Dean scowled. “Don’t you start on me. Told you, those directions we were given were crap. I know how to find my way around a map.” He glanced between house and barn. Over the course of a hundred years, victims had been found in each, strung up and slaughtered. If he and Sam were caught off guard, they’d find out the hard way if there was a pattern as far as killing grounds were concerned.  “I’ll take the house. Barn should be quick, so meet up with me after.”

Sam’s eyes flicked with concern to Dean’s ribs, but Dean caught the glance and started walking before Sam was able to protest. Time was too short to argue, or to stick together. He’d just have to be quick with his own search.

It shouldn’t be too hard, Sam reassured himself as he jogged over crumpled beer cans and grass gone flat under recent frosts. A barn meant open space, less crap to dig through, and…

… another damn teenager.

“So, you’re the one who chased off my ride home?” She greeted him with a smile, long legs, a waterfall of hair, and cheeks that shone bronze despite the season. And judging by the way she was sprawled atop an old trunk, she had thrown back a few beers before separating from the others.

“What are you doing here?” Sam couldn’t keep the temper out of his voice, but she paid it no mind.

“I was trying to get a few minutes away from the shitty music. What about you? You look kinda old to be at this party.” Belatedly, her gaze made a lazy slide to the gun Sam had in hand.

He braced himself for the screams, the panic, that were sure to follow. Instead, she wet her lips and pulled herself to her feet.

“Oh. So that’s what that was. Thought it was one of those assholes tossing a firecracker in the fire.”

Sam nixed his previous assessment. This girl hadn’t thrown back a few beers — she was completely loaded.

Swearing, he pulled out his cell and punched in the speed dial for Dean. “Hey. No, no sign of– yeah, man, but there’s some girl in the barn. We’ve got to get her ou— Hey! What the hell are you doing?!”

Sam moved to catch her wrist, but she had already plucked the phone from his fingers and tossed it aside, leaving the tinny echo of Dean’s voice muffled in the dirt. “You’ve gotta stop messing around, it’s not safe here!”

"Oh, right,” she laughed. “Tonight’s when the spo~oky killer ghost comes back." Cheeks flushed and a smirk on face, she looped her arm in Sam’s and pressed close to his side.

Meanwhile, the watch on his wrist was ticking stubbornly onward, as relentless as this girl in its determination to make his life more difficult.

"You do realize people have died here. More than once.” Trying to shrug her off was like trying to shake loose one of those little dryer sheets.

"I know. Makes what we’re gonna do kinda scandalous, don’t you think?" One lacquered nail began trailing dangerously south, making a path along the waistline of his jeans.

This kind of flirtation might have been fun back in college, but here it was going to get them killed. Teeth grit in what could be mistaken for a smile, he pried her arm from his. “Save it. The only thing I want in here is a hat.”

His eyes were in constant motion, looking over everything but the prom queen pouting up at him. It was like trying to pick out details within the dark corners of a funhouse. Bands of light from the bright evening were weaving between the rafters, deepening the shadows that pooled between haystacks and farm equipment long gone to rot.

“What, like this one?” she called. He had been so focused on everything but her that he hadn’t noticed her leaving his side.

She was leaning over the trunk she had been seated on before. It groaned into the quiet as she raised its lid.

“I was looking around earlier. There’s all kinds of old crap in here.” When she turned to smile at him, the very hat he sought hung from her fingers. It was identical to the one he and Dean had seen in countless photos of Douglass during their research, right down to the dime-sized hole in its center and the dark stains lining its rim.

Something akin to hope swelled in Sam’s chest, but then a nagging voice in the back of his mind insisted  _It’s never that easy_.

“Yeah… exactly like that one. Let me see it.”

“Sure thing.”  But right before he took it from her, she pulled it out of reach and wagged it before his nose, her smile devious. “How’s it go? Save a horse, ride a cowboy…?”

Sam’s nostrils flared with a slow exhalation. “Right.”

With little patience or time to spare, he wrapped his free hand around her waist and hoisted her up in one fluid motion. She laughed despite the grim determination on his face, delighted at how easily he had been able to scoop her into his arms. Needless to say, for Sam it was less about being romantic and more about getting the both of them to that bonfire so he could burn this piece of shit and call it a night. Goal in mind, he was making long strides for the exit when she caught his collar and pulled her face to his.

He had just enough time to register that her lip gloss was cherry flavored when he heard Dean scream his name from across the room.

"SAM, GET DOWN!"

Years of experience had him dropping without a thought, but it wasn’t fast enough. As his knees hit the ground, the teen clutched defensively to his chest, he felt the cold bite of steel against the back of his head. He grunted against the pain, had the urge to shiver beneath the warmth suddenly spilling down his neck.

The girl shrieked, but the sound was lost in the thunder of Dean’s shotgun.

“Jesus, Sammy, making out in a haunted barn on the anniversary of a mass murder? You should know better than that.”

Swearing under his breath, Dean jogged over and hauled Sam to his feet. The girl had already scrambled to hers and been screaming ever since.  

“Hey, sweetheart! Tone it down a notch, I can’t hear a damn thing!” Dean hissed.

Aside from her hysterics, the barn was still. Dean’s head whipped left to right, caught between scouring for danger and keeping a concerned eye on the trails of red seeping past the palm Sam held to his head.

“Dean, I’ve got the hat.”

“ _What_?” Dean winced. The girl was a babe, but she was going to get them all killed. “I can’t hear you over your girlfriend! The hell is wrong with her?!”

It made his head swim, but Sam leaned over, putting his face before his would-be fangirl. “Hey, it’s okay. Calm down. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner you’ll be safe. But you’ve gotta be qui— shit!”

There were a lot more screams after that, not to mention a few more bruises to remember the evening by. It definitely wasn’t the kind of hunt that either of the Winchesters would be bragging about over a pint in the days to come. All the same, when everything was said and done, the world had one less ghost to deal with, and no teens were harmed (seriously) in the making of the night’s story.

Regardless, Sam was pretty sour.

It wasn’t the stitches Dean was threading through his scalp that put a frown on his face; he was used to those. What he was having a hard time dealing with were the tufts of hair laying on the floor. Of course, his brother had no choice in taking a razor to Sam’s pride and joy; he had to clear the way to treat the wound.

Still, Sam was pretty sure he didn’t have to be so damn smug about it.

“Hey, could have been worse.” Dean sounded consoling, but Sam knew he was grinning. “At least you were right about the hat.”

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t almost get scalped.”

“You were due for a haircut anyway.” Dean tied off the last stitch and seated himself across from Sam, the hard springs of the motel mattress feeling like heaven after the night’s work. He didn’t even bother biting back the hiss that dragged across his lips.

“These last few weeks have been a fucking nightmare. What do ya say we take a week or so off to put ourselves back together again? Maybe go pay Bobby a visit.”

“Fine by me.” Sam reached for a beer that rested on the nightstand. He had polished off half of it while being sewn up, and now made quick business of finishing the rest.

“What’s wrong? You should be celebrating. You rescued the damsel and everything.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. That was great. Almost as good as you nearly getting your ribs shattered from saving yesterday’s jerk.”

The memory alone made Dean crave a beer of his own. “Well, at least tonight’s chick didn’t go running off like that one we saved last week. I mean, seriously. Who’s stupid enough to think a _basement_  is a good place to hide when you’ve got a killer after you?”

Sam smiled warily at him. “Heh, and what about those two couples right before her? Remember? The ones who thought it would be a good idea to ‘split up and search for help’ when their trail guide went missing?”

Dean regretted the low laugh that rattled against his ribcage on the way out. “Ah, for fuck’s sake. It’s like everyone’s in the running for title of ‘The Biggest Idiot in the World.’” He looked over at Sam, who had already begun to stretch out on the bed, any urge to change before crashing long gone. “Full week off. Deal? Otherwise, we’re gonna be the ones who need saving.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. “Deal. Definitely a deal.”

————

Two days later they were crammed into the back room of a 24-hour truck stop with three panicked customers and a twiggy clerk experiencing the worst of adult acne. Outside, beyond the room’s locked door, were the snarling, jeering taunts of a pack of vamps.

“No.  _Hell_  no. We are in the middle of nowhere! This is our freakin’ night off!” Dean exclaimed.

“Dean…” Sam tapped purposefully at the corner of his own mouth.

Rather than clean up the bit of apple filling that was smeared against his lips, Dean took an extra large bite of the Little Debbie pie he had in hand. The clerk made the mistake of meeting his eyes after some crumbs fell to the floor.

“You better not think I’m paying for this if I’ve got to go out there and clean up this mess,” he growled. “Besides. Expiration date is from three weeks ago.”

Across from them, a woman who looked about twenty was pacing nervously in stiletto heels. “Who cares about food! What are those things out there? Did you guys see their teeth?!” She was alarmed, but doing a far better job of keeping it together than the last few helpless citizens they had dealt with.

“Drugs. Looked like a gang on drugs,” murmured a guy to the back. The jersey he wore was spattered with blood, the cap on his head askew.

“Everyone, just stay calm. We’re going to work this out.” Sam had put on that soothing, authoritative tone of his. Your friendly law enforcement kind of character. It made Dean inwardly groan, because it definitely wasn’t a “night off” kind of voice.

“And who are you, exactly?” Another woman, salt and pepper hair braided neatly atop her head, peered at them both from above thick-rimmed glasses.

“I’m Agent Dennis,” replied Sam. “And this is Agent DeYoung.”

Dean smiled tightly at the woman’s unimpressed glare. “We like to go for a casual look when we’re off duty.”

“You guys don’t look like cops…” the young woman began. Her makeup was applied too thick, her skirt and halter too skimpy for the winter season.

“You would certainly know,” sniffed the older woman.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Ladies!” Sam stepped between the two and looked to Dean for help, but his brother had gone still.

“Shh!” Dean was waving a hand, signaling them to keep quiet.

It took them a moment to realize what had changed: the store had gone silent. Sam saw hope light their faces in turn, but he knew better.

Moving slowly to the door, Dean dropped the pie, replacing it with a blade drawn from his jacket. If anyone wondered why a cop would be carrying a serrated knife, they had the sense not to question it.

No one moved, no one breathed.

Sam tasted the salt of sweat on his lip. He tried to think back to a few minutes ago, back to when the vampires had come crashing through the store’s doors, taking out one poor bastard in a mass of thrashing legs and gurgled screams. How many fangers were there? In the mad rush to get the others pushed to the back room, he hadn’t been able to count. Three? Four?

This space was too small, crowded by shelves and unpacked arrivals. If — no, not if — when those vampires decided to break through the door, it would be damn near impossible to fight them off.

Sam could tell the same thoughts were running through Dean’s mind. His brother’s jaw was drawn tight, the line of his back set to brace himself against a sudden onslaught. The clerk began whispering a mantra of  _oh shit oh shit oh shit_  as Dean inched his face toward the door’s porthole.

Right before he peered out, the door slammed against its hinges, making them all jump. Dean jerked back from the glass just as another face filled it.

“Y’all look pretty snug in there, so we’ve got a deal for you!” The vampire peering in at them was all cordiality and smiles — a good smile, a human smile. “That other fella was a hefty guy, so we’re about full, and decided we’d cut you a break. You send out one person, and we’ll just take our food to go.” He winked. “You’ve got five minutes to decide. If you choose not to take us up on this deal, well… guess we can all make room for a buffet.”

“Food? Food?!” The guy in the back had flattened himself against the wall. “They’re going to eat us?!”

“Vampires! That’s what they are, aren’t they? Some kinda vampire! I told you! I saw their teeth!”

“Who cares what they are! Who are we sending out there?”

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..”

Panic taking root around them, Sam and Dean exchanged a heavy look, each silently wondering if it’d be possible to save the other if worse came to worse.

“Everyone, just shut up!” Dean wheeled around, the blade in his hand gleaming. To this group of stranger, he had on the no-bullshit game face of a man in control.

But that wasn’t the case.

As always, Dean was putting on a good show, but his quick movements, the rapid jerk of his stare as he searched the room, top to bottom, seeking something that would hold off their attackers, made Sam’s blood run cold. Dean was afraid.

Sam swallowed down the fear that tightened his throat, somehow managed to work words past the lump. “All of you need to stay calm, and do exactly as we sa—”

“Give them the whore.”

All heads turned to the older woman. Her fingers twitched nervously over the beads hanging from her neck, but her voice was cool.

“Listen, lady, we’re not giving them anybody,” Dean snarled, but she didn’t back down.

“The rest of us are good people. People with families. Who would care about one less tramp staining the world?”

The young woman drew her shoulders back, temper flaring, until she saw the way the others were looking at her. No one was coming to her defense. And worse, their faces had filled with eager opportunity.

“You’re safe.”

She looked up in shock to see Sam standing close, placing himself between her and the others.

“We’re not going to let anyone get hurt,” he reassured.

“How can you help anyone? You’re as trapped as we are!” the clerk shouted.

“Those things were monsters, not petty thugs!” snapped the older woman. “Give them the whore! Godforsaken filth for a pack of Godforsaken monsters. She deserves this more than any of us!”

“Enough! I’ve HAD it!”

The woman’s glasses nearly fell from her nose as she hastily backed away from a fuming Dean. She gripped her beads tighter, sputtering. “If we want to give them that damned harlot, then you have no right to—”

But as far as Dean was concerned, the bullshit quota had been filled for the evening. His lips pulled back in disgust as he stared her down. “Listen up. You either shut up or I’ll throw you out there.”

Sam was almost positive it was an idle threat, but it stirred wary stares and mutters of dissent among the rest of the group. If this kept up, they might decide Dean was the one to toss out to the vamps.

“Dean, we need to keep calm,” Sam said, tilting his head toward the group. The guy had pulled a bottle from one of the shelves, ready to take aim. Beside him, the clerk and older woman were barefisted, but just as ready to take drastic measures.

“Calm? Sorry, Sammy, but that ship has long since sailed. Between Westboro over here, the prom princess nearly getting your head taken off because she decided murder shacks are a turn-on, oh — and let’s not forget the holier-than-thou douchebag who almost got me disemboweled — I feel like we’ve been living out every fucking B-rated horror trope there is! I know we’ve got shit for luck, but this is unreal.”

Sam froze, Dean’s words scratching at a thought that stirred just below the surface of conscious reason.

“… busty blondes running to hide in basements … people purposely splitting up when lost in the woods …” He continued where Dean left off, murmuring the list of their recent escapades, his heart hammering with a growing realization. Dean turned toward him, face questioning, but Sam didn’t notice. He kept on talking, his eyes moving to each one of the group in turn. “And now we have the ‘whore,’ the jock, the geek.”

In one fluid movement he drew his gun and leveled it at the chest of the older woman. “And the religious zealot.”

Around them, the group gasped and twitched, tensions strung to a breaking point. Dean turned nervously toward the door before quickly moving his attention back to Sam. “Sam… what are you doing?”

“It’s like you said. The tropes, the stereotypes. For the last few weeks, it’s been one after the next. I can buy a few idiots here and there, but not like this.” He took off the safety, never removing his eyes from those that were locked on him from behind the glasses.

Dean held up his hand placatingly. His brother might have a temper, but he wasn’t the kind to murder in cold blood. Nevertheless, there was a sudden ruthlessness emanating from him that made his stomach twist. “Sam, c’mon. Ease up. Trust me, I know it’s tempting, but—JESUS!”

The sound of a shot rang like a wrecking ball to the head. Dean grabbed Sam’s arm and jerked him to his side, the gesture oddly protective, given the fact that Sam just murdered a woman.

Or so Dean thought.

“Well, that was rude,” she sniffed.

Blood poured from the cavity centered in her chest, but she seemed more concerned with wiping off the flecks that had spotted her spectacles.

Dean’s grip tightened on Sam, but it was more for his own sake. Right now, the feel of his brother’s arm in his grasp was the only thing that made any sense.

“If you were so sure it was me, then why’d you waste a bullet? You know that kind of thing can’t harm me,” she continued.

Sam smiled, a more cynical turn of lip than what he usually sported. “I know. I just thought it would feel good to shoot you.”

A smirk cracked her face, and with it, the world around them started to shatter. Dean swore as the figures in the room stuttered and broke like bad reception, and then jerked in surprise when the walls of the store expanded until they took the form of a musky warehouse. The laughter of the vampires faded away, replaced by the nearby traffic of a freeway. By the time he collected himself enough to turn back to Sam and the woman, she was gone as well, but a familiar face waited in her place.

“Oh, you son of a bitch!”

Dean lunged, and Sam just barely managed to catch him by the back of his jacket.

“Looks like the two of you are still holding a grudge. That’s never healthy. Will give you crow’s feet, premature greys.” Loki smiled and stretched his arms before himself, knuckles cracking, glad to be back in “his own” skin.

“What’d we do this time to deserve this?” Sam snapped.

“Deserve? Nothing! I was trying to do you guys a solid. You know, to make up for last time? Few busty blondes, a little making out under the moonlight. I thought at least you, Dean, would appreciate the effort.”

“You thought repeatedly trying to kill us in some trashy monster of the week movie was going to make us happy?” It didn’t matter that his knife wouldn’t work on him. Dean wanted to try anyway.

“Well, if you insist we put all our cards on the table, there was a little more to it than that.” Loki swapped one emotion for another as easily as most would put on a mask. However, the solemn expression he now wore felt more true to Sam than any of his previous smirks and leers. “I tried to teach you last time about the consequences of holding on to someone too tightly, but you slammed the book in my face. So, like any good teacher, I adapted the lesson plan to best fit the class.”

The muted gold of his eyes held no cruelty, but promise. “If you’re so determined not to lose each other, then eventually you’ll find out it can’t be done without a price. Sometimes, you’re going to have to count your losses.”

“You think we don’t know that?” Dean snapped.

“No, I don’t think you do. As fun as mortals are, sometimes you’re stupid. Or arrogant. Or cruel. And not everyone is going to make it easy on you when you try to save them. But if you keep throwing yourselves into the fire to save every sprig, you’re going to be the ones who go up in flames.”

“So what?” Sam huffed. “Why do you even care?”

Loki paused, his stare unreadable.

“Because you’ve got things to do yet. Big plans for little fish, as I once told a brother.”

After a moment’s pause, Loki’s smile returned, and both Sam and Dean realized they’d get no more out of him.

Which was fine by the older Winchester, who put as much faith in the trickster as he would a used car salesman. “Great, well, thanks for the lesson. But from here on you can consider us dropouts.”

Loki shrugged a shoulder, nonplussed. “Kids never appreciate a good education.”  

Not a fear in him, he strolled between the two brothers — one glaring, one staring fixedly at the ground, but neither moving to stop him.

“Your car’s outside, but you look kind of worn out. Drive safe, will ya?” he asked, giving Dean’s shoulder a pat in passing. “Oh, and Sam.”

Just before vanishing, Loki gave him a wink. “You’re not such a bad kisser, but you should polish up on your technique.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [Supernatural fic challenge on tumblr](http://coltsandquills.tumblr.com/post/110187577571/the-alan-smithee-affair-one-shot), based on the prompt: "The biggest idiot in the world."


End file.
